Different Senses

by Ann Somerville

  No city clothes around Granddad. He’d once been a family doctor, but had retired ten years ago. I couldn’t remember him in anything but kurtas and salwars, even when he was seeing patients.

  We soaked in the welcome rays of the sun as we worked. I brought him up to speed on what I’d been doing since I left the force. “Private detective, eh? Your parents must be thrilled.”

  “You know they’re not. After all the grief I got for joining the police force, now they’re saying at least that’s a respectable career. Mum offered to pay me to give it up.”

  “Sounds like Lochana. Rajan wasn’t like that as a boy. Proud, I mean. I don’t think he’d have minded your empathy half as much if your mother wasn’t so bothered by it. No offence intended. She’s a fine woman, always said so.”

  “Did you know Grandma was biracial when you married her?”

  He paused, staring down at a red and orange flower as if trying to decide whether to let it live or pull it up. “She didn’t know, not then. Wouldn’t have made a bit of difference to me if she had. All this stuff about pure breeding is a crock, excuse my language. It’s not like empathy’s a disease. Pure ignorance, if you ask me.”

  “When did she find out?”

  “Same way you did. She came down with nukerlian flu—there was an outbreak in the forties, before your dad was born. Very severe, killed a lot of older people, babies. She pulled through okay, but then she started complaining about mood swings, feeling angry or happy for no reason. One day we worked out it was connected to my emotions, or those of my clinic employees, and we figured what had happened.”

  “But you never told anyone?”

  “Who would care? The anti-empathy laws hadn’t been enacted, she worked at home, and there was no good reason to tell folk who didn’t need to know. And, well, when those civil liberty types started yelling about it being an invasion of privacy and all that, we just kept quiet. Never thought it would affect you, son. Sorry.”

  “Not your fault, and it’s not like I could have stopped it. It’s in the genes. The only way to not have it would not to be born.”

  “Yashi’s not worried?”

  “He wouldn’t be affected even if it triggered. That’s the nice thing about being a vet.”

  “That, and patients who don’t give you any backtalk.”

  I grinned. “True. Granddad, did Grandma know where the indigenous connection was? Did she ever trace her family back?”

  “Well, not sure. I’ve got the marriage certificates for her parents and her grandparents, if you’d like to take a look. Further back than that, I don’t know. You planning on digging?”

  “With your permission. It’ll give me some cover on this case I’m working on, and I’d like to know.”

  He eased himself to his feet and cracked his back. “Then come inside and we’ll talk over lunch. You staying?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Spare room’s been sitting empty a long time. It’ll be nice to have some company.”

  ~~~~~~~~

  By the time I left Granddad’s house two days later, my cousin on Kelon had reported some interesting—and interested—messages from dealers on Uterden, including two I hadn’t spoken to at all. She’d acted as her mother’s assistant and told them I was acting with authorisation, conveying, she said, a rather sniffy attitude to the whole business. She enjoyed the game, I thought. The importance to the udawathei didn’t enter into it.

  On my return to Hegal, a visit to another artefact dealer got me what I was really after—the suggestion to contact two of the names on Shardul’s list. I needed a trail that could be followed back to a legitimate, non-banis contact. Now I had it.

  I sent a message to my targets’ offices, asking for a meeting, dangling some lesser bait. Now to wait again. Shardul called me just as I was headed to the Records office to follow up what Granddad had told me.

  “Shardul, I was going to call you this—”

  “Someone just broke into another keeper’s house, and attacked him. Knocked him down.”

  “Damn it. How is he?”

  “He’s shaken up. He’s younger than my aunt but not physically impressive.”

  “And the object?

  “The object is safe, since it was moved some time ago.”

  “No accident.”

  “Not in the least. We’ve increased security around all three of them.”

  “Which was it, the shirt or the...?”

  “The shirt.”

  “And the perps? Yours, mine?”

  “Our keeper said they were masked, and they didn’t speak. He was too shocked to give a decent description. Of course, the police are taking it about as seriously as I expect them to.”

  “I could talk to some of the guys I know, see if they can push it a bit harder.” Though with the banis community hiding crucial facts, and no description of the attackers, the police wouldn’t have much to go on.

  “To what end? If they’re chuma, they’ll never come to trial, and the real thief will escape.”

  “Even if I retrieve the object, others may try for them.”

  “Yes. It’s being handled within our community. Don’t concern yourself.”

  “We need to find the link between your people and those after the objects.”

  Shardul laughed. “Ythen, everyone on that list employs our people. They’re ‘pro-indigenous’. Very proud of their work with the ethnics. Three of them even have biracial mistresses.”

  “So if they knew about...the things, it wouldn’t be hard to find out who their keepers were.”

  “Not at all.”

  “Spectacular.”

  “They shouldn’t know about...the objects.”

  “That dog’s off the leash, Shardul. Money and power can open just about anything—doors, lips, legs.”

  “Speaking from personal experience?” he asked sweetly.

  “Hey, I’m cheap. A nice meal, bottle of Kirdan wine, and you could have your wicked, wicked way with me.”

  “Not if you were—”

  “—the last man on the planet. Yeah, I know. You did ask.”

  “I have work to do. So have you.”

  He closed the call. I grinned even though there was no good news in what he’d told me. Shardul was a very pretty man with a powerful ego, and I’d always been a fool for them. Been taken for a fool by them too, but that was the price I paid for risks that paid off sometimes.

  Focus, Javen. Whoever was behind this was desperate and not too picky about hurting people. Getting into Shardul’s salwars wouldn’t solve the case, or get me paid.

  I figured my genealogical studies fitted in with my cover, so I carried on my way to the Records office. The clerk I asked about how to trace my ancestors was terribly polite and helpful until I mentioned the indigenous connection, and then her emotions were a lot less positive. She remained polite as she explained that prior to the second wave of colonisation, indigenous marriages weren’t recognised or registered.

  “Let’s see how far we can go back with legitimate unions,” she said, poking at her screen. “Ah, there’s your great-great grandparents, and their issue. Would you like a print of that?”

  “Of course. And the previous generation?”

  She found two previous marriages, and the earliest ancestors listed were recorded on transit logs. “No banis connection at all,” she said brightly, once again cheerful. “Isn’t that lucky?”

  “Well, not exactly, since I’m empathic. There has to be a connection.”

  “Oh.” She actually moved away a little, revolted. “You could have said.”

  “Why? Does it matter?”

  “Yes. It’s...an invasion of privacy. In fact...I think I’ll have to ask someone else to help you, sir.”

  “Don’t bother. I’m done.” I gathered up the print outs, paid the hour consultation rate at the exit counter, and drew in lungfuls of clean air as soon as I was outside. I should have been used to it by now, but the rejections still hu
rt.

  I shook myself and looked at the information I’d gathered. No sign of banis heritage anywhere, at least not officially. I’d need help tracking it down, but I couldn’t justify wasting more time on it today. I’d call Granddad and tell him what I’d found though.

  My phone rang. “Sri Ythen, I’m Sri Duadi’s assistant. You sent a message about some indigenous artefacts you are offering for sale?”

  “Well, it’s my aunt, and it depends on the price offered, but yes. Are you interested?”

  “Sri Duadi has a slot free tomorrow afternoon at two. If you’re free, please bring either the items or clear holographic representations to his office. Shall we expect you?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  I mentally rubbed my hands with glee. Arun Duadi was head of a major Pledeke Corp subsidiary. A big fish. I called Shardul and told him. “Can you get me holograms of the items?”

  “Of course. I’ll transmit them in time for the meeting. You plan to dangle the major bait?”

  “Yes. I’ll be vague though. I’ve warned my cousin to expect an increase of interest.”

  “Good.”

  “Shardul, what do you know about pre-second wave registration of indigenous-Kelon marriages?”

  He snorted. “That your people gave more importance to recording the breeding of their pets than our people. Udawatha marriages had no legal status in Kelon courts, the children were considered illegitimate and their births unregistered, and offspring of such relationships did not automatically inherit unless explicitly mentioned in a Kelon-language will. Many children had what was rightfully theirs stolen, and generations lived in poverty because of chuma greed.”

  “But your people kept records?”

  “Of course. Where is this going, Ythen?”

  “I’m trying to find out where the empathy came from. I’ve traced records back to my Kelon ancestors arrival on the planet, but there’s nothing about any indigenous marrying in.”

  “There won’t be. Like I said, your people are all about taint. If we didn’t exist in their system, they could pretend we didn’t exist at all.”

  “Yeah, yeah, past history—”

  “Your history, my life,” he snapped. “I’m busy.”

  “Wait. I’m sorry. Look, I just want to talk to someone who could help me find the connection. I’m really interested in this, and so’s my grandfather. My grandmother was matos, he said.”

  Shardul fell silent, but didn’t end the call. I felt somewhat ridiculous pursuing this with him, but it wasn’t like his good opinion meant anything to me, or that his hatred of all things Kelon was personal. I sought information, and he was best placed to offer it.

  Finally he said, “I’ll send you a contact. One of our people who pursues this as a hobby cum part time business. But you’re not being employed to draw your family tree.”

  “I know that. This is all on my time. Thanks.”

  He closed the call without a word. I wondered what I could do with the information, other than tell my grandfather, who might gain a little comfort from it. Yashi would be interested in an intellectual way. Tara would receive it with thin-lipped politeness. My parents, would not thank me at all.

  But I’d always believed knowledge was power, and not knowing something made me snarly. So now I could find an answer, I had to find it.

  Yashi had a late clinic and had asked me to give him a lift home. “How was Granddad?”

  “Older. Lonely. He misses us.”

  “I know. I keep saying to Tara we should get up there but we never do. It’s not good enough, I realise that.”

  “He’s seventy-eight. Won’t be around forever. And that crap about Grandma wasn’t his fault. Mum and Dad haven’t been reasonable at all about it.”

  “Yeah. I never did agree with them, you know that, right?”

  “I figured but with Tara and everything....”

  “It’s harder on her, being a teacher. Parents hear a rumour, gossip, and it’s all through the school in a minute. People are a bit touchy now anyway, with the push to have the government officially recognise indigenous mistreatment during the first colonisation. Most of us are second-comers. We didn’t have anything to do with the first colonisation. We did everything fair and legal, and didn’t take over anything by force.”

  “I know, but the Kelons did do some bad stuff. Did you know they didn’t even recognise banis marriages during that period? No wonder they hate us.”

  “See, I don’t get why they do. I’m not part of the first colony. I don’t want to apologise for something I didn’t do.”

  I bit my lip. It was only what I’d told myself a dozen times, a hundred times before. But Shardul’s words—“Your history, my life”—resonated in my head. “Yashi, Grandma was empathic too.”

  He whistled. “Yeah? You know, that explains a lot. Dad said he never could lie to her. Just like you.”

  I grinned. “One benefit, kind of anyway. Dad doesn’t know, by the way. I don’t think he’d appreciate being told.”

  “He’d cope, but Mum would throw a splinter. Yet it’s not like it’s illegal to be part banis.”

  “Maybe the two of us should try talking to her, alone.”

  “Maybe.” There was no great enthusiasm in his voice or his emotions. “But I’ll arrange a visit to Granddad. He deserves to see the boys, and I love that house.”

  “He misses Grandma so much, still. If we tell Mum that, it might soften her attitude.”

  “Maybe. She never liked him that much. With him being a doctor and her family being working class, I get the impression she thought Dad’s parents didn’t approve of her.”

  “Granddad doesn’t think like that at all.” But I’d forgotten that detail about Mum’s family. “We should talk to her.”

  Yashi shrugged. “We can try.”

  Then we were at the house, and it was time to put a lid on that topic.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Pledeke Corp’s glittering headquarters were a long way from the mines and factories on which its vast wealth was founded. Arun Duadi’s office within the building offered a fine view of Hegal and the western mountains, but I bet he spent very little time looking out the window. The room was dominated by sleek black and glass shelves on which sat discreetly lit banis artefacts. Even with my cursory training, I recognised the rarity of some, and the beauty and significance of all.

  I sat in a luxurious leather armchair and accepted the chai offered in translucent porcelain. “You have a very fine collection, Sri Duadi.”

  “Thank you, Sri Ythen. Do you acquire indigenous material yourself?”

  “No. I don’t really have anywhere to store such things. I live in my brother’s house, and well, the banis are a bit of a touchy subject there. My aunt’s interest in the artefacts is slightly embarrassing.”

  Duadi’s assistant gave me a polite smile, but I sensed hostility. The man was banis, which I hadn’t expected from his call. Duadi’s smile was a little more genuine.

  “Such prejudice, and for no reason. I have many indigenous friends—I should say, udawatha friends—and employees. Fine people, all of them, with a very rich culture. Speaking of which...would you like to show me what your aunt is offering on the market?”

  I gave him the holostick, and he inserted it into his desk player. Shardul had done a lovely job with the images, and each had a convincing looking accession card next to it in his flowing hand. I’d spent the morning boning up about each item, but Duadi, brimming with enthusiasm, told me about them before I could.

  “Oh, she has an eye for the detailed beadwork,” he said, cooing over a necklace. “Of course she would. This is a lovely, lovely piece. What have you been quoted for it?”

  I coughed. “Um, I’m afraid that’s confidential. I’ll be happy to pass your offer to her, of course.”

  “I understand. I wonder where she acquired that jug? So few of that style on the market, and I didn’t realise any had reached Kelon. Vishva, perhaps you could make more enquiries.
”

  “Yes, sir.” The man gave me an evil look, the hostility increasing. I hoped Shardul hadn’t slipped up, including something so rare. Duadi had already moved onto the next piece.

  When he had run through them all, his enthusiasm had diminished somewhat. “I’ll have Vishva prepare some offers and contact you. I’m not sure the cost of reimporting them is justified. Is that really all you have?”

  “My cousin did say there was some material her mother seemed to have acquired and not known what to do with. A rather ordinary shirt with a note from a third party identifying it as ‘getha’ or ‘githa’—she couldn’t really read it. She thinks it’s a Nihani item but knows nothing about it.”

  Vishva sat bolt upright, his face blank, anger and anxiety pouring off him, but Duadi didn’t notice or react at all. He was now somewhat bored, my entertainment value spent. “Means nothing to me. Vishva will be in touch. Thank you for coming, Sri Ythen. A shame your aunt has to sell her precious collections.”

  “Well, old age can be cruel, and the family have to look to her future, sad to say. Nice to meet you.”

  Vishva walked me out, and as soon as we were in the elevator and private, he gripped my arm, and told the console to halt at a floor above the exit level. “What are you up to?” I demanded.

  “I must speak to you, Sri Ythen. It’s important.”

  The floor was some kind of relaxation area, with glass doors opening onto spacious balconies. He led me out onto one, and as the doors hissed shut behind us, he said, “These items you are selling. They belong to my people. I know some who would offer to buy them back. Even that shirt. Anything that might belong to the udawathei.”

  “You prepared to match Duadi’s price? I’m acting in my aunt’s interest, not yours. My family’s not a charity.”

  He bit his lip, desperation in every nerve. “At least let us try to match what he offers. Even for some of the items. We’ll buy even the less desirable items.”

  “Like the shirt.”

  “Yes.”

  “Something about that I should know, Sri Vishva?”

  “No. I just want my people’s heritage kept here on Uterden.”

  “Does your boss know your attitude to his hobby?”